


Lazarus Rising (Or: When Steve Met Tony)

by Agent C (arh581958)



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Supernatural (TV) Fusion, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Hunters, Angel!Tony, Community: cap_ironman, First Meetings, M/M, Motel Rooms, Personal Space, Pre-Slash, Sassy!Tony, Stony Bingo, Stony Bingo 2016, Supernatural Elements, Tumblr, URT, UST, angel grace, grace!kink, hunter!Steve, prompt, stonyficideas, stucky - brotp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 18:57:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7000477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arh581958/pseuds/Agent%20C
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony only gets as far as “Blessed are you for you are—”  before Steve shoots him in the chest, <i>by accident</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lazarus Rising (Or: When Steve Met Tony)

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a Supernatural(TV)!AU, which accidentally coincides with a [prompt on tumblr](http://stonyficideas.tumblr.com/post/140679551327/i-want-a-supernatural-au-except-with-steve-and). Though I am not that familiar with the Supernatural (TV), I did research a youtube video when "[Castiel First Appears](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fr-zvI4tRBM)", [some weaponry research](http://www.supernaturalwiki.com/index.php?title=Weapons_Catalogue#Firearms), and some of [Castiel's quotable lines](http://supernatural.wikia.com/wiki/Castiel).
> 
>  **Warning** : Slight, canon-typical violence. Any opinions of the characters about religion, rituals, etc. are not necessarily shared by the author. Apologies, not beta read.
> 
>  **CAP_IRONMAN BINGO 2016 ROUND 1** : [S5] _au:Supernatural_

“Blessed are you for you are—”

_BANG!_

Steve doesn’t hear the rest of that sentence. He shoots the scum with a salt-loaded shotgun. It groans, he cocks his gun and shoots again, hitting the thing at the dead center of its chest.

“Sonova—!” The figure grumbles, arms wide, staring theatrically at the gush patch of red seeping on its crisp white shirt. “Do you know how fucking _difficult_ it is to remove blood stains?” Fingers snap and the blood is gone, and the shirt looks good as new.

Steve reloads quickly, doesn’t blink, and lines up his next shot.

“Don’t.” A warning comes. His gun is pulled away by an invisible whip, landing with a dull _smack_ on the creature’s palm. He draws the black 9mm Beretta from back of his jeans. It too goes flying.

“Ah, ah, ah,” The voice—jovial and mischievous—chastises, lips curls into a smile, “Like I said—don’t bother. I know about the shuriken on your belts, the pocket knife in your boots, and that—” it whistles, “— _beautiful_ stainless steel Taurus with a mother of pearl grip in your jacket. I’d say, give it up, Cap, and try to listen for once.”

“What _are_ you?”

The still unknown _thing_ starts dismantling the carefully crafted classical pieces, making disproving grunts here and there. It has the appearance of a man. When the shotgun’s gone, it moves on to the pistol with the same frowny-disappointed gait.

Steve loses whatever little patience left after coming back from hell _with no idea why_. “Hey!” He yells, trying to asset a little more dominance, bearing his teeth for a full-effect. “I asked you what you _were_!”

“Aww, cute, teeth, you wanna bite me with those, handsome?”

He realizes that it’s a _man_ with dark brown hair and blue eyes which seemed to hold entire galaxies.

“I, uh…”

The man _rolls his eyes_. “Of for Christ’s sake, let loose a little, Cap. You’re making this assignment bore-ring.” He sashays his way towards Steve until they’re neck and neck, nose to nose, eye to eye, with barely a space to breathe between them.

Steve holds his breath.

“I am Anthony, Angel of the Lord.” Anthony declares with a haughty smirk. He snaps his fingers twice, and opens his palms. Steve’s guns materialize out of thin-air. The angel takes a step back and offers the weapons.

“Go on,” he urges, ushering Steve to take the guns like a child with a new toy, “I’ve removed the rust from the barrel of the Winchester and fixed the faulty spring in the Beretta. They’ll fire like a charm now. I think you’ll find the changes nothing short of _miraculous_.”

***

“ _You—you… you what?!_ ” Steve distances the phone from his ear just in time for Bucky’s screech. “ _Why the_ hell _would you do that?!_ ”

“Language!” He reprimands with a hiss, “Look, Buck, in my defense I didn’t know what to do, okay? When things randomly appear out of nowhere, we shoot first, ask questions later. That’s what I did. I shot it! Then I asked my question.”

“ _Ahh-huh, so what’s he doing now?_ ” Bucky sounds unconvinced.

Not far from him, Tony, as the so-called Angel Anthony preferred to be called, bends into the bowels of the ’64 Volkswagen Beetle, in only his white pantsuits and a black sleeveless undershirt. Once in a while sounds of gears churning, metal clanking, or the most blasphemous string of insults come from under the trunk-cover.

“He’s fixing the car.”

_“He’s fixing what—now? Where the hell are you, Stevie?”_

“Language, Buck! You don’t got to cuss in the name of the Lord to get your message across.” Steve pinches the bridge of his nose and tries to breath in deep breaths. He smells like mud, and dirt, and gremlin who hasn’t taken a shower in two days, precisely because _he hasn’t taken a shower in two days_. He’s been on this case too long.

“ _Why the h—heck is he fixing the car?_ ”

Steve looks away from the sight of _an actual Angel of the Lord fixing his car_ in embarrassment. “… I don’t actually know,” he confesses. His trusty car suddenly. broke down after Nick’s just the other day. Nick had his best mechanic on the job. “It just did and he—Tony—volunteered to fix it.”

There’s a thinking pause on the line. “ _You had tools for that? In the bug? There’s_ room? You barely fit in it without looking like an oversized clown in a tiny clown car!”

“Hey!” Steve retorts, “Stop dissing the car, Buck. Peggy’s a special kinda car, okay? And, I don’t know,” he sighs leaning against the tree trunk on the fringes of the layby. “He did some kind of weird angel-mojo thing of _some_ thing ‘cause it ain’t natural.”

“Or maybe your grasp of natural is too narrow, Steve,” Tony says from beside him when Steve swears that the angel was three meters away by the car a few seconds ago.

Steve resolutely does not jump at the unexpected appearance, and proximity. “Tony, you _can’t_ just do that! You’re gonna get yourself shot if you sneak up on people! That’s not right.” He spins to face the angel, and is met with a nose nearly brushing against his jaw. He stumbles back with a yelp.

“ _Stevie, are you alright?_ ”

“I’m fine, Buck,” Steve says into the receiver, then he looks at Tony. “I think he’s done. I’m still a day’s drive out. I’ll call you when I get to the motel, okay?” He doesn’t wait for Bucky to reply before hanging up. He fixes a glare on Tony. “Tony, what did I tell you about personal space?”

Tony seems unfazed by the _lack there of_. He gives Steve large blue pouty eyes, making the blond rum a hand over his face. “Your car is atrocious. I don’t know how you expect it to lug-around that kind of weight—you, your equipment, and the metal casing. But if you love it so much, you could have at least done better maintenance.”

Steve stares at Tony like the angel is unreal. Then again, he didn’t believe angels even existed until a few hours ago. Give him time. “Why are you doing this?”

“I thought it was obvious.” Tony rolls his eyes, accompanied by a long-suffering sigh. He throws the ruddy hand grease-stained hand rag onto Steve’s face, hitting the mark head-on. His hair’s become a messy and he has grease marks all over his face. “I was fixing your car.”

“I know.” Steve presses his lips together, holding back a retort. “ _But why_? You show up for my hunt, fix my weapons, and fix my car. _Why_ are you doing all this?”

Tony hunches his shoulders, wiping his dirty hands on his greying white slacks. When he looks up at Steve, he’s smiling but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You have yours rules. We have ours. You have a job. I have a job. Right now, my job is watching you so whoptie-do,” he snaps his fingers and appears in the Bug’s passenger seat, honking the horn, “There’s a diner three towns over with really good burgers so get your bum in the car and drive!”

***

They end up checking into a motel in the same town with the _kick-ass_ cheeseburgers and homemade country-style American pie. Out of habit, Steve books a double room which he would normally share with Bucky if they’ve been on the hunt together but his best friend was still laid up in the bunker from a broken leg on their last pear-shaped hunt.

Tony makes his way inside the room and unceremoniously sprawls onto the bed with the coin-operated _magic fingers_ attachment. “Of all the lodgings that this meager town has to offer, you just _had_ to choose this dump, didn’t you?” He drops a quarter and the bed starts to buzz. He leans back, arms crossed behind his head, jiggling with the vibrations of the built-in massager. “But, he-ey, le-ast’s g—ot th—is!”

Steve dumps his duffel bag on the bed with a scowl. “It’s economical. You might have it all gold and marble and sunshine up in heaven but down here we make do with what we have. Hunting doesn’t really pay for much, o’right?”

“But those who lives a simple life on earth will be blessed with the riches of heaven.” Tony intones, dark blue eyes watching Steve ruffle through the bag for clothes and toiletries.

“Yeah right,” Steve rolls his eyes. “I’m going to take a long shower. You… go do whatever angel thing you have to do or whatever. I don’t really care.” He gives the angel a once-over. He might have heard myths and legends about celestial beings called ‘angels’ but not once did he think that they’d be so _human_. He shakes his head at the thought and heads into the bathroom.

“Hello, Steve.” Tony surprises Steve just before he drops his pants.

“Tony! What are you going here?” He spares one look at the lock door then back at the dark-haired angel. “I said I was going to take a shower! In case you didn’t get the memo with your ancient angel thing, I meant that I’d be taking it _alone_.” He blushes and grips the hem of his pants tightly.

“Oh,” Tony sounds a little disappointed with that, “That I’ll just…” He places a dry achingly warm hand on Steve’s chilled flesh.

Steve gasps. Something snaps, realigns, and patches itself together inside of him. He hisses at the flood of white hot _something_ spreads from the palm of Tony’s hand to the rest of his body. The tiredness from the day drains away, so does the achy joints and body pain.

“What—how?” He stares at Tony with wide-eyes because he feels _revitalized_.

Tony leaned in, hand brushing the underside of Steve’s jaw, locking their eyes together.  “I am the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition. I remade your body, stitched it together atom by atom, and breathe life into your lungs. I know everything about you, Steven Grant Rogers. I’ve seen your soul,” he licks lips, “and what a beautiful soul it is.”

He’s gone a second later, leaving Steve reeling if the two-minute encounter had all been just a dream. In the shower, under the weak but hot spray, water washes away the caked mud and murky water falls into the drain. Steve checks, double-checks, triple-checks his body for any injuries sustained in the past two-days of hunting.

He sees none.

***

Steve wakes up the smells of bacon, eggs, and coffee mingling together in the stuffy motel room air. He glances around and sees the other bed, Tony’s bed, empty. Last night, when he came back, the angel hadn’t been in the room. He isn’t surprised to wake up in the same condition. They barely know each other. There’s no reason to _want_ the angel around.

His phone starts playing ‘ _Star Spangled Man’_ ; Bucky’s calling.

“Hello?”

“ _You never called last night_ ,” Bucky reprimands like a mother hen, “ _I had to get a call from Tony saying that you were asleep. I nearly shit in my pants. Stevie, an_ Angel of the Lord _on a cellphone and taking to me. Can you believe it! Christ!”_

It’s too early in the morning for Steve to begin lecturing about respecting religious names. He pushes off the bed with a groan. None of his muscles hurt like the past few days. He feels refreshed like he hadn’t felt in ages.

“How exactly did he call you?”

“ _With your phone, duh. He doesn’t have one, does he? But he knows how to work one._ ”

Steve runs his free hand through his hair, contemplative. “I’m not sure if he does but, yeah, apparently he knows his way around most electronic gadgets too. Got the car up and running yesterday. Something about faulty maintenance at SHIELD. Gotta give Nick an earful for giving me a crack-mechanic working on Peggy.”

There’s a loud sigh, and he picture the accompanying eye roll. It’s the type of silence that means Bucky has something to day but still piecing together the best half-assed way to say it. “So… angel, huh? Why idea what brought that along? I mean, you know, aside from the raising you from hell thing?”

“He’s an angel, Bucky, means the Big-Big Guy up there’s got plans for me.”

“You always gotta be special, don’t ya, Stevie?”

Steve chuckles, the noise sounding foreign and echoing in the small space. He hasn’t heard his own laughter in a long, long, time—not since he fell into the pit. Nostalgia for the good, easy, carefree days floods him. Those days were long gone since his mother died. But he always remembers what she taught him.

“Nah… just tryin’ to be a good man. I gotta go. I hear someone coming.” The phone clicks off just as the door wings open. Tony’s wearing the exact same thing except the red shirt is tied around his waist and his jacket is nowhere to be seen. A cigarette slowly burns between his lips.

“Heya, Cap, you said you wanted to leave bright and early so I got you pancakes from the diner. Would you believe that they _didn’t have cheeseburgers_ in the morning? The blasphemy! What 24-hr diner doesn’t swerve burgers around the clock? Preposterous! It’s a scam!” He collapses dramatically onto his bed.

Steve squints at him. “The diner is 2-miles out.” There’s no way that Tony could’ve walked all the way there. He doesn’t know if the angel-mojo works with objects of just Tony’s corporeal body.

“Yeah,” Tony shrugs, “Here, catch!” He tosses the car keys into the air, smack into Steve’s waiting palm. “Borrowed the Bug, turned her up, and gassed up on the way back so it didn’t take your time. He doesn’t even turn to look at Steve to know. “Stop gawking. Close your mouth and eat your silly food, Rogers. You’re the one with an appointment to catch.”

Steve follows the command without further question. He opens the paper bag with breakfast. It’s surprisingly still warm despite the coolness in the room. He strongly suspects that the angel on the other bed has something to do about that but he says nothing. Within the hour, he’s packed and they’re ready to hit the road again.

Tony’s waiting in the car when he gets there. He’s getting used to the angel popping in-and-out everywhere within his general vicinity. What he isn’t used to is the loud hard rock song that _blared_ on his speakers when he starts the ignition. Only his years of ingrained hunter experience saves him from an embarrassing freak-out moment. Instead, he twists the knob exasperatedly.

“What is the meaning of this?” He demands, as they exit the motel parking grounds. “What did you do to my music?”

“Your music is sad and boring. You’ll be falling asleep at the wheel before midday with all that pop-y J.B. crap or whatever his name is. I’m bringing happiness to your life. It’s AC/DC.” Tony makes a face, but Steve gives him an irate glare. “You don’t know who AC/DC are? Black Sabbath? Ozzy? Man, you’ve got to know Ozzy! No? Urgh… Led Zeppelin?”

Steve grunts slightly, and Tony beams.

“Aha! I knew there was _some_ ounce of coolness left in you! Let’s get to it!” Tony snaps his fingers and Led Zeppelin’s ‘Good Times Bad Times’ begin to play. They both sing along as the scenery changes around them. The album completes a whole loop before they talk again. It changes again when Tony snap—yet another rock band.

“Do you always have to do that?”

“Do what?” Tony asks innocent as he head-bangs to the beat of the latest song.

“I don’t know; shrug your fingers every time you do that magic thing…?”

“Haah!” Tony’s face is full of mock horror. “Steven! It is not _magic_! Angels don’t do magic. Magic is stuff that not-so-awesome people like you, witches, and a handful of other nasty creepy crawly things that go bump in the night use to, well, do not-so-natural things. It disrupts the common order of things. Magic—no, no, no, it’s not magic. It’s called _‘Grace’_ , Angel Grace.”

“And snapping activates it…?” Steve doesn’t really understand. Grace and magic are both outside the ordinary realm, as far as he and other hunters are concerned.

Tony laughs, full-bodied, deep, and rumbling from the center of his chest. Steve swerves just a little bit at the sound of it. Lucky for them both, the interstate is empty this early in the morning.

“No, I snap because it’s—” Tony snaps again and burnt-sienna colored glasses appear on his nose, “—fun. Pizzazz, you know?” He chuckles heartily again at his own joke.

This time, Steve stays in the right lane.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Notes** : On an ending note, I have completed my [Bingo!Card](http://arh581958.tumblr.com/post/145064315410/stonybingo2016arh581958) yay~ 
> 
> As always, **kudos/comments/bookmarks** are all appreciated by this author. I take comments as extra-kudos and I _do_ read the bookmark tags (some are really fun). 
> 
> If you have a prompt or an idea, you can [INSPIRE ME](http://arh581958.tumblr.com/submit) on tumblr. Or [TALK TO ME](http://arh581958.tumblr.com/ask).


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